Apartment 367 - Deluge or Delusion

I don't quite know why...
but she asked me if I was using two fingers.
I wasn't.

She was shifting her hips
like she was riding a rocking horse in the air adjacent to my bed-
massaging my fingertip against her button
again
and
again...

I lost a bit of my mind with her every motion.
My hard-line masochistic streak keeps me
blindly stumbling into these situations--
and I'm not sure what I am surrendering
by not surrendering...

A sin is a sin is a sin is a sin is a sin is a sin is a sin
is oblivion.
The hell I've walled myself into
is no less excruciating
because I've espoused some moral imperative.
Penetration is penetration,
whether by word, flesh or sword...

Another breathy moan from the direction of my headboard,
and I realize I'm sinking deeper into thought
as I'm sinking deeper into her...
suffering a disconnect
in the midst of this connection.

To be honest, I couldn't remember her name right now
if you had a magnum pressed to my skull
rather than sheathed over my dick.

I'm fairly certain sex is just an act for her;
A way to sate some salacious craving without feeling pitiable.
I could be anyone, as long as I was someone
who was no one special.
I'm essentially a dildo with a pulse...

and a conscience.

I'm not sure she counted on the second part.

Her breathing quickened,
my member stiffened
and I realized that I've been aloof in atonement for the moment
I forgot one unyielding truth...

Whereas making love is an act of creation,
Sex is an act of destruction :
It should not be performed if you don't intend to do damage--

I don't quite know why...
but she asked if she could cum on my fingers...
Ironically, I couldn't give a fuck.